


For Want of a Nail

by nisakomi



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Mulan (1998) References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6404302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisakomi/pseuds/nisakomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't you know there's a war going on? </p><p>A (Disney) Mulan inspired AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Want of a Nail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galaxytaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxytaos/gifts).



> presenting, part 2 out of 30 junhui fics before he turns 20, a project. 
> 
>  
> 
> "...I now have this great vision of Jun singing reflection from Mulan"  
> -galaxytaos, 5-6 hours ago.
> 
>  
> 
> *

“One.” Overhead spin, whipping throw the hanging branches of the willow tree.

“Two.” Twist, block, jab.

“Three.” Tornado kick, leap, toss.

“Four.” Forward tuck over the reeds.

“Five.” Flying lunge.

“Six.” Step side parry, side parry, block, strike—

“—Whoa!”

Junhui halts his motions, cutting off in the middle of his regular morning practice drill, staff a mere centimetre away from Feng Jun’s face. His hair is tied in a knot at the back of his head and it swings with the suddenness of the stop.

“Yangyang! What have I told you about sneaking up on me while I’m training?” he scolds, tucking the wood into his elbow and leaning his weight into it. 

“Sorry, _ge_! Dad says it’s time to get ready for your big day!”

“My big day?” Oh right. Matchmaking day. Junhui gives his eyes an exaggerated roll, and huffs out a breath. He’d only gotten started, barely even a layer of sweat on his skin, but the thought of finding an appropriate spouse makes him hot and uncomfortable. “Well, come on then,” he grumbles, throwing the staff over his shoulder and taking his little brother’s hand. “We better not get them mad at me for teaching you more martial arts.” 

“I like learning from you!” Feng Jun uses his free hand to throw a punch into the air, wrists floppy but enthusiastic nonetheless. “I think fighting’s super cool.” 

“Well yes, that’s the problem isn’t it?” Their mother crosses her arms at the gates to the courtyard, a damp washcloth in one hand, red-silk covered feet tapping on cobblestones. “You spend way too much fighting, Wen Junhui, you know that I don’t approve.” 

“It’s good to know self-defence!” Junhui protests, putting away his staff and letting himself get dragged by the ear toward a large basin of water inside. 

“One thing to know self-defence, another to be run away looking for war,” his mother mutters darkly, puttering about for soap. 

Junhui hates it when she brings up father. First father, that is, before she remarried. Dad’s the only real father he’s ever known, but that doesn’t stop mom from complaining all the time about Junhui getting his actual father’s genes. “Head off to war then, disappear then, leave your family mourning you for years then!” She yells, whenever they have this argument. She doesn’t look like she has the heart to fight today, however, nervous as she is.

More nervous than Junhui is anyway. 

“I’m not going to run away to find him and become some weird father-son fighting duo, mother,” Junhui says through gritted teeth. It’s spring, not terribly cool, but stripping down leaves more skin exposed than he would like for the wind to chill. No, if he were to run away, it’d be to find the sea. Their nation is surrounded to the east, west, and south by nothing but blue shores, so he’s been told. The territories bordering them to the north, the so called “Three Kingdoms” were supposedly blocked off by beautiful forests. Junhui wanted nothing more than to be able to explore every corner, but he couldn’t abandon his family to go on a joyride around the country. So he’s stuck scrubbing himself clean to get married and settle down and live that boring old life set out for him from birth. 

A towel swats at his head. “If you promise not to make a break for it, then I’ll even let you bathe yourself. Be quick, we don’t want to be late!” 

Au contraire. Junhui would love nothing more than to be late. 

 

*

 

He’s seated with a row of other young men and women, each nervously pretending to preen about their own desirability to intimidate the competition. Junhui sits blankly, knees spread and staring at wall across from him. He doesn’t really care about impressing anyone, and doesn’t really get overly concerned about the person he’ll be watched with. That was the job of the matchmaker anyway, wasn’t it? To find an appropriate suitor. 

“Wen Junhui!” A young man with prominent cheek bones calls, slamming open the door with one hand and standing before them with his chin lifted, surrounded by an air of superiority. He has one leg held out in front of him, a hand on the opposite hip. It’s a grand entrance, but Junhui barely pays attention, gliding past him without any expression on his face. 

“Matchmaker Boo,” Junhui addresses politely once the door is closed behind them. He bows perfunctorily, waits for a sign he can sit. 

Boo Seungkwan fluffs at the hair at the back of his nape, regards Junhui with narrowed eyes. Not impressed by the greatest face in the entire district? This one was going to be tricky. “Young man,” he says with a sniff. “Sit.” His tone is clipped, like he’s trying to assert his dominance over someone who refuses to be tamed. 

Junhui obeys, unphased by Seungkwan’s voice, and takes the proffered tea with a curt nod of the head. He sips slowly, letting the complex taste of oolong linger on his tongue. The matchmaker had expensive tastes. “So……” 

“Yes, let’s see. An experienced martial artist, finished full education, can play the zither…Handsome enough, I suppose, although no match for my dashing good looks. Passable. Now who to put you with…” 

A shrug of the shoulders, and Junhui is looking morosely down at his empty teacup. Matchmaker Boo’s eyes are closed, he probably wouldn’t notice if Junhui helped himself right?

“I know! I’ll give you the best of the best.” The sudden exclamation stayed Junhui’s hand. “Someone pretty and equally gifted in the arts, so you can be each others’ muses?” 

“That's not…I just want to marry someone I can talk to when I’m old. They don’t have to be good at anything as long as they’re a decent person. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be just introducing people, not ‘giving people away’ like they’re possessions or something?” Junhui furrows his eyebrows, shifting nervously. 

“Well I never.” Seungkwan huffs, snaps his eyes shut. 

As soon as they closed again, Junhui darts his hand out, quickly pours himself more tea, and smiles sweetly like nothing’s happened. 

“Those who talk back deserve others who talk back,” Seungkwan whispers darkly. He slams his hands down on the table before them, and purses his lips. “Wait right here.”

When he returns, it’s with a young man with collarbone length auburn hair, who shuffles his feet and whines as Seungkwan pulls him along by the elbow.

“Play nice, Jeonghan,” he hisses, before dusting himself off and giving Junhui a sly curl of the lips. “Wen Junhui, meet Yoon Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan, meet Wen Junhui. You two are the cream of the crop, I must say—” The rest of it fades into blubbering, as Jeonghan has unceremoniously deposited himself on the floor, lying down, curled up around a cushion.

Jeonghan yawns. “Carry on, Seungkwan, finish whatever you were going to say.” 

“Right. As I was saying, _the cream of the crop_ , and I think you two would be well suited to marry each other!” 

“What?!” Jeonghan shrieks. “I can’t get married to someone whose hair is nicer than mine! I can’t believe you woke me up for this joke. Don’t be ridiculous Seungkwan, let me go back to sleep.”

Junhui flips his hair over his shoulder and darts a look between Seungkwan and Jeonghan. “Um.”

“Woo. Him,” Seungkwan mouths emphatically, glaring daggers into Junhui’s eyes and making sharp jabbing motions toward Jeonghan’s snoring body with his index finger.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Junhui asks. “He’s already asleep.” 

“Fuck, Jeonghan, I almost managed to find you a partner!” Seungkwan yells, kicking Jeonghan’s back. It’s ineffective because somehow, in his sleep, Jeonghan has managed to procure a thick set of blankets and is wrapped comfortably in a protective cocoon, away from Seungkwan’s wayward feet. 

“Look, Mr. Wen, you think he’s beautiful right? Everyone thinks he’s beautiful, more beautiful than anyone other than me. I’ll pay you to take him off my hands, please, you don’t seem that concerned about who you marry, and I would owe you a lifetime of favours.”

“Well…I don’t know, Matchmaker Boo, I mean, telling your clients that they’re the person you matched with them is someone you can’t get rid of – I’m not sure that’s a great business model to be honest.” Junhui has finished the entire teapot at this point, and there’s no longer anything interesting him in the room. He stands, looks down again at Jeonghan, whose snores have gotten progressively louder. “It’s been very nice meeting the both of you, but I think this concludes our business.”

“Wait, wait!” Seungkwan shrieks, chasing after Junhui. It’s of no use. Junhui’s sweeping out past the other clients, pushing open the front doors, and on the streets before Seungkwan’s even fixed his hair to look presentable enough in front of his other patrons. 

Well, a waste of time. Junhui’s mother won’t expect him back for a while, so he takes the opportunity to wander around the dusty roads, past street vendors, food stalls, old men playing chess. He doesn’t really see the point in getting married, but even if he did, he wouldn’t want to marry someone so…motionless. Junhui likes to move around, likes _doing_ things. 

Suddenly, trumpets sounded.

“Citizens of this good country! The army is recruiting! The 200-year-old treaty with the Three Kingdoms draws to a close and our nation faces a great battle ahead. Sign up now to fight for glory, for your emperor, for your families!” A young man, a kid really, yells from a scroll. He’s standing on top of a wooden platform, surrounded by an guard. The hair at the back of his head sticks up, it’s rather endearing. The boy clears his throat. “And for a hefty reimbursement should you return alive,” he mumbles, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. 

Now this, this was what Junhui was talking about. A fight.

 

*

 

“I knew it! I knew you’d be just like your father and run away to the call of war. It’s in your blood,” his mother shrieks, as soon as he heads home and tells them the news. 

“I’ll come back!” Junhui protests.

“You won’t! You’ll be married to the war, just like he was! Oh no, what have I done to deserve such a wretched fate!” She clutches a handkerchief to her face, but there aren’t any actual tears in his eyes. Overdramatic, as always. 

“Look, I’m old enough to set out on my own. I’m only here to ask if I can take Seokmin with me.”

“STEALING MY SON AND OUR ONLY GOOD HORSE?” His mom yells, holding her hands up to the sky. “THERE IS NO GOD.”

His dad places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “Of course you can, son. Don’t listen to your mother. Follow your dreams. Come back to us safely.” 

“Alright!” Junhui high fives him to his dad’s complete befuddlement, and then turns to his little brother.

“Don’t leave me~!” Feng Jun wails, clutching at the hem of Junhui’s shirt. “Who will teach me how to fight?” 

“WILL THE GODS TAKE _BOTH_ MY SONS?” 

“Better not learn how to fight at all,” Junhui says, wincing. “If the war doesn’t kill me, she will.” He gives Feng Jun a tight hug, and straps the last of his bags to Seokmin’s back.

“Well I’m off!” 

Junhui’s already outside the city walls when he pauses to consider what he’s actually doing. 

“Hey Seokmin, I’m going to survive this, right?”

“Neiiiigh. Neiiiigh.”

 

*

 

“Ancestors! Hear my plea!” Feng Jun calls out. His hands are clasped together, kneels digging into the stone ground. The Hall of Directors is airy, with a high ceiling, and his voice echoes off of the corners. 

“ _Ming Zhu Ren_! Protect my brother!”

It takes them half a day to wake up.

The _Ming Zhu Ren_ , Directors, haven’t had a job for the family in years. Not since that one guy got really into fighting and asked for the family he left behind to be well looked after in his absence. Mingming had done a pretty good job with that one, he’d say. The new dad was a pretty cool dude, and the son was kinda cute, when he wasn’t clinging onto the older son who was left behind anyway.

Mingming stretches, looks at their surroundings, becomes cognizant of the situation. Oh no. Oh _hell_ no. He was tired as fuck and that Junhui kid was an absolute _loser_. He was weird and played too many practical jokes and was generally annoying. Mingming was too old for this shit.

“Hey. Hey you. New kid.” He toes the knee of the curled up newbie in front of him. The kid doesn’t wake up. “HEY, ASSHOLE, MINGHAO, WAKE THE FUCK UP.” 

“Wha—?” 

“Look, you want a go at being the new best ‘Ming’ in town right?”

“Yeah?”

“Kay. You’re on. Go get em.” 

“Wait, what?”

“Figure it out yourself.” Mingming was already lying back down to go to sleep. These humans and their itty bitty lifespans. His _naps_ took fifty years. He waves a hand in Minghao’s general direction. “I believe in you. Don’t wake me up if you fuck everyone over. Bye.”

 

*

 

“Are you a fairy?” Junhui squats down to talk to the one-foot-tall humanoid-looking being in front of him, with the long translucent wings, almost like a dragonfly, and rainbow coloured hair. 

“I’m not a fairy! Don’t you ever call me that again!” Minghao means for his voice to be commanding, threatening even. But he’s tiny in comparison to the size of people, and naturally, his voice comes out higher pitched than he intends.

“Alright, alright,” Junhui says, lifting up his hands defensively. “Then what are you? Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on a rock in a small clearing, letting Seokmin graze, only a little way out from main camp. Of all the things he thought he’d see, this …not-fairy was not one of them.

“My name is Minghao. I’m your guardian for this little adventure!” 

“Guardian? You’re guarding me or I’m guarding you?” Junhui looks at him with utter disbelief, measures Minghao’s height with his palm.

“Fuckface, I can do magic. Do you wanna go?” Minghao’s eyes had gone from bright and dancing to unimpressed and angry in the span of a second.

“Uh. I guess not. Can you like, make some food or something, I think Seokmin’s hungry.” 

Minghao sits, bored, and points a finger at some nearby rocks, which transform into cubes of sugar. “See. Good things come in small packages.” 

Junhui’s eyes go very wide and very round. “I…believe you… What else can you do?” 

“I don’t know, what do you think the oldest most respected ancestral guardian of your family can do?” Minghao asks.

“ _You’re_ my oldest most respected ancestral guardian?”

“Err…” That hadn’t been quite what Minghao was going for. He meant, anything that guy could do, Minghao could try to do better. But if that’s what Junhui thought, well… “Yeah, obviously.” He rolls his eyes and flits his wings in a way that he knows shows off their colours. 

“Cool. We better get going then.” Hey! That was easy!

 

*

 

By the time he makes it to the main camp, the place is deserted. Junhui peers through most of the tents, and figures that the soldiers must be going through afternoon training. Since no one’s around, he sticks around in the canteen, Minghao hovering just over his shoulder.

“What if someone sees you and thinks they’re going insane?”

“Only people in your family can see me,” Minghao says like that’s a basic fact that Junhui should know.

“Wait, how does that work. Can Feng Jun see you? Is he counted in family?”

Minghao rolls his eyes for the fiftieth time that afternoon. “Family isn’t just the blood in your veins,” Minghao lectures, “duh!” He’s beginning to see why Mingming didn’t want to take this job on.

“Anyway, what are you doing. Are you stealing food?” He peers over the top of Junhui’s head, hands wrapped around his hair like he’s holding a horse’s reigns. ((Somewhere near the bunks, Seokmin sneezes.))

“Just cleaning up,” Junhui says, wiping down a table with spilled rice.

“Why?” It’s a new voice, low and cool and startling both Junhui and Minghao. Junhui stands quickly, bangs his hand against the edge of the table, and winces. Minghao tumbles backward, nearly falling to the ground and resulting in a painful bruise, but remembers he can fly at the last second. They both turn to stare at the owner of the voice.

He’s handsome, wide eyes, dark hair, full lips. He’s also glaring at Junhui.

What an utter knob.

“Why can’t I clean?” Junhui asks hotly, drawing himself up to full height. Hah. He’s taller than the asshole. Inside his head he sticks his tongue out at him.

“We have staff to help. Are you staff? Or did you just make this mess?” 

Junhui shakes his head, opens his mouth and closes it. “Excuse me?”

“Why aren’t you at training with the others anyway?”

Junhui places his hands on his hips, spreads his legs to shoulder-width apart and narrows his eyes. “I arrived two minutes ago. Why are _you_ here? Besides, just because there’s staff to clean up after the soldiers doesn’t mean they can’t be at least a little considerate. If everyone picked up after themselves, everyone’s lives would be easier. It’s the least someone can do, especially when they’re bored.”

The man purses his lips, looks like he’s about to say something in reply, but closes his mouth and folds his arms over his chest instead. He whirls on one foot, leaves the tent, and Junhui deflates.

“That was weird. I’m not meant to be scary.” 

Minghao pouts. “That guy was an asshole.” 

“I know right?” Junhui and Minghao roll their eyes together. There are some things money can’t buy. For everything else, there’s fairy guardians. 

 

*

 

Junhui spends the rest of the afternoon in a meadow near the bunks, running through exercises he learned as a child without any weapon. He’s fit and spry, and he feels pretty good about keeping up with the fitness regimen of the soldiers. Near sundown, some of the others return from whatever training ground they had been at, and Junhui quietly mutters to Minghao that he hopes these soldiers are better than the bag of dicks from earlier in the day. 

He jogs over to the nearest one, waves happily.

The guy scowls at him, and then turns away, waddling towards the food tent.

“Hey, I’m Junhui, I’m new!” Junhui introduces himself. When he gets close enough, he realizes the guy is a fair bit shorter than he is. “Did you know, good things come in small packages!” He parrots the phrase Minghao had told him a few hours ago, and carefully high fives Minghao behind his back.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?” The guy spins around and socks Junhui in the jaw. 

“Oh my God, Jihoonie, you can’t just go around hitting other people, what if you killed him?” 

There’s another new voice somewhere above Junhui’s head and he groans, slowly opening his eyes. Everything spins, his head is aching, and he vaguely feels himself being helped up. 

“Sorry about that. Jihoon’s kinda sensitive. I’m sure you meant well. I’m Soonyoung. This is Jihoon. And you are?”

“Junhui?” 

“Are you sure?” someone else jokes. “Shit Jihoon, you must have done a number if this guy can’t even remember his own name.” 

“Shut the fuck up Wonwoo, or I’ll punch you in your face.” 

Wonwoo frowns. “Don’t do that. I need this face to lure in all the hot guys with abs.” 

“Um.” Junhui lists a little sideways, and two pairs of arms shoot to steady him. Jihoon’s arms are still crossed, his face pissed. “Sorry?”

“No no!” Soonyoung says, too loud and too close to Junhui’s ear. “It’s Jihoon who should be apologizing. We have words, Jihoonie, use them, not fists.”

Jihoon snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s why all of us signed up for the army. To use words, not fists.”

“Ah, forget it. Come on, Junhui was it? Jihoon can be prickly but it’ll be okay. You’re new right? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Junhui nods a little, feels the bones on the side of his face crack. He’s going to have a bruise in the morning. 

“Cool! You should come eat with us. Tell us where you’re from and why you’re here.”

“He punched you in the jaw,” Minghao whispers in Junhui’s ear. 

“Yeah but I’m blaming that one on you,” Junhui mutters back.

Dinner is weird. Jihoon doesn’t stop glaring at Junhui. Soonyoung doesn’t stop eating. Wonwoo doesn’t stop ogling the nearby soldiers, especially the shirtless ones. 

“So I’m here for the money, obviously, so my parents don’t have to work. Jihoon’s here because he likes to fight, probably, or something, it doesn’t matter if that was his original plan or not, he likes to fight now so.” Soonyoung waves his chopsticks around and sends food flying everywhere. Jihoon looks like he’s about to punch Soonyoung, and Junhui almost looks forward to it, but it never happens. Odd.

“Wonwoo’s just here to look at hot guys, as we’ve already established.” Soonyoung shovels more food into his mouth and Junhui puts down his own chopsticks, satiated just from watching Soonyoung eat.

For a brief moment, Wonwoo tears his eyes away from whoever it is he’s staring at now, attention caught by hearing his own name being called. When no one seems to be forthcoming with anything else, he turns back, sees the dip of someone’s collarbone underneath their shirt, and licks his lips very slowly. 

“These people are weird,” Minghao says. 

“Yeah, but at least they’re not assholes,” Junhui replies. 

“Anyway, so what’s your story?” 

“Um. I’m really good at martial arts and thought I should put my skills to good use?”

The table burst into laughter. 

“Ahahahaha, good joke,” Soonyoung says, wiping tears from his eyes. “As if people these days who aren’t monks get trained in martial arts. Pull the other one.” 

“No, seriously, I’m really good.” 

“Keep your secrets then, new guy, but we’ll find out eventually.” Soonyoung pats him absently. 

“Weird. I’m telling you. This is my third and final warning,” Minghao says. 

 

*

 

The next morning dawns, and Junhui is up and on the field in his new uniform with all the energy of a small puppy. He loves this, loves pushing his body to the limit, loves the rhythm and power involved with physical training.

The others…not so much.

Jihoon is the last of the soldiers to arrive on the field, rubbing sleep from his eyes and not bothering to cover his yawns. Soonyoung is only slightly better off, but that’s because he and Wonwoo are leaning against each other to stay upright. 

Junhui shakes his head, but he’s amused more than anything. 

“Soldiers!” Hey wait, he’s heard that voice before.

Wonwoo’s eyes snap open and he stiffens into position, eyes wide, drool figuratively spewing from his mouth. “Hot stuff’s here!” he cheers quietly, gaze fixed on the guy at the front. 

The same guy who was…

“It’s _asshole_ ,” Minghao whispers with disbelief. 

Bag of dicks was their captain? Shiiiiiit. 

“Isn’t he dreamy?” Wonwoo asks from beside Junhui, “his abs are so. hot. I could wash my underwear on those abs. I could peel carrots on those abs. I could—” 

“We’ll formally run through some evaluations today. Let’s begin with an evaluation. You there! Sleepyhead!” 

The entire squadron shunts backward to reveal a snoring Jihoon, who had fallen asleep while standing. Soonyoung elbows him in the ribs, and Jihoon shakes himself awake. 

“Come here and spar with me. I’ll use one hand so you have a chance. If you can disarm me, all of you can have an extra portion at lunch. If not, everyone’s going to do pushups until mealtime.”

Jihoon opens his mouth, blinks, looks wildly at Soonyoung.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Still an asshole,” Minghao mutters.

Junhui agrees quietly. Jihoon might have punched him, but Jihoon had been provoked, and was otherwise inoffensive to Junhui. Who did this captain penisface think he was, looking down on his troops and patronizing him. One hand! Fine, you probably have more experience. But why demoralize your own soldiers?

Jihoon puts up a fight, he’s fiery and quick, and he uses the fact that captain asshole is taller than him to his advantage, somehow. But he ends up on his back quickly, and knobhead starts taunting him. That’s when Junhui’s had enough. 

“Hey, stop it! He’s already down.”

Junhui receives a cool glare. “What are you going to do about it? Take his place?”

Junhui lifts his head. “Yeah.”

“Oh?” Bag of dicks grins and raises an eyebrow. “But if you’ve already lost, we have to up the stakes, don’t we? If you lose, you lot will be doing push-ups until sundown.” 

“If I win, you’ll let us go for dinner early.” 

“Hey, Junhui, what are you doing?” Soonyoung hisses. “You’re talking to the general of the army!” Junhui tugs his elbow away.

“Deal.” 

Okay, so this guy was some bigshot general. Whatever. Junhui has the element of surprise, and years of dedicated training under his belt. He could do this blindfolded, and standing on one leg.

Seriously.

He takes the dude down faster than people stop laughing.

The General of the army stares up at the soldier who dared to question him with shock, confusion, surprise. “Name?”

“Wen Junhui.” His voice is cold and angry. Beside him, Minghao is whooping with glee and shimmying his butt in a celebratory dance. 

“I’ll remember it.”

 

*

 

“I can’t believe you were telling the truth. You’re actually really good at this!” Jihoon whacks Junhui in the arm, and offers him half of his bun. 

“I’ve been learning martial arts since I was born, basically,” Junhui replies with a grin. He takes the extra food happily, and basks in the general good will of the other soldiers.

“You gotta teach me!” Soonyoung says excitedly. “Now that we’re not stuck doing push-ups all the time, I can actually learn ways to fight!” 

“Sure,” Junhui agrees easily. Minghao is doing cartwheels across the bench, and Junhui tries not to snort up the food he’s chewing. 

The thing is, everyone’s a quick learner, and very eager.

Junhui wakes up before dawn every morning, spends an hour or two running through as many drills as he can by himself, with whatever weapons he can sneak out of the armoury. When he needs resistance training, he works in the river. When he wants to focus on working with his surroundings, he strays to the edge of the forest. 

After the sun is up, he joins the others for breakfast, and then spends the rest of the daylight hours working with them on basic hand-to-hand combat, as well as teaching them to hold a variety of blades. It’s supposed to be the general who does this, who by now Junhui’s learned is named Choi Seungcheol. He’s still mean and cold-hearted, but he lets the sessions continue on, as long as they continue doing sprints up the hillside, and circuits of push-ups and sit-ups before dusk. 

It’s in the middle of those sessions when Junhui takes a water break by himself while the others learn how to karate chop that he overhears Chief Advisor Jisoo berating the general. 

“They’re your soldiers, but they’re humans. You can’t be too hard on them.” 

“I know. I know I’ve been too harsh on them. But they have to be ready. If I’m not hard on them, then they won’t train enough. They have to train harder to survive. It doesn’t matter if all of them hate me, Jisoo, as long as all of them live. I just want all of my men to be able to go home.” 

It softens Junhui’s heart a little, but he still thinks it’s stupid that the guy is so rude and haughty and stuff to everyone that he doesn’t remove the mental label of asshole that he’s assigned Seungcheol. 

He’s lost in his thoughts still when Seungcheol swoops out of the tent. “What are you doing here, soldier?” 

“Thought you were going to remember my name,” Junhui shoots back. 

Seungcheol freezes. “Yes, Wen Junhui.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but Junhui can’t tell what it is. 

Eventually, the silence becomes unbearable and Junhui looks up, ready to say something like “I’m going to go now.” He’s cut off, however, by Seungcheol commanding him, “walk with me.”

Junhui nods quickly, follows Seungcheol’s footsteps without anything more to say. They end up in the canteen, and Seungcheol holds open the flap of the tent for Junhui.

“Sir?” He asks.

“Sit,” Seungcheol says. There’s something about his voice now, that’s not really a command, but Junhui obeys anyway.

Minghao takes a seat too, perched on the top of Junhui’s head and opening his mouth in disbelief. “Is he…cleaning?” 

He is. Choi Seungcheol, Great General, has a sponge in one hand, a plate in the other, and sinks his arms elbow-deep into soapy water to wash something like 300 dishes. It takes him ages and Junhui scratches at his own neck nervously the entire time, not sure if he should really be sitting and watching instead of, he doesn’t really know, something or another. Helping? Going back to join the others?

When he’s done, Seungcheol joins him at the table where Junhui’s been seated in confusion, clasps his fingers together in front of him and gives Junhui a look. “I’m sorry about the first time we met. I didn’t mean to say…well, you caught me off guard.”

Junhui doesn’t really process his words. Without thinking, he reaches out and takes one of Seungcheol’s hands in his. The tips of his fingers are pruned and wrinkly to an unfathomable degree from being soaked in water for so long, skin rough and dry from the harshness of the soap. Junhui rubs his thumb over Seungcheol’s knuckles in wonder. “Are you okay?”

Seungcheol looks at Junhui with surprise, again. Seungcheol’s always being surprised by Wen Junhui, in some way or another. He tugs his hand back quickly, and places them on his own lap under the table. “I’m fine,” he says gruffly.

Junhui nods. “You were saying?” 

“Never mind.” 

Junhui and Minghao watch as he leaves again, a scene reminiscent to the first time they met.

“Asshole, am I right?” Minghao mutters. 

“I don’t know. His words are dickish, but I think he’s got a soft heart in there.” 

Minghao shakes his head. “Thinking like that is what got you punched on your first day here.”

Junhui just grins.

 

*

 

Junhui only means to head to the river for a night training session, thick bundle of towels ready to be wet as weights to strengthen his forearms, but it’s not to be. He finds Soonyoung, Wonwoo, and Jihoon already there, along with a dozen other soldiers, splashing around in the water like it’s a bathhouse. There’s even a water fight.

“Hey!” Soonyoung calls out. “Over here!”

He strips, dives into the water, and swims over to where Jihoon and Soonyoung are lazing beside a giant rock. 

“What are you guys doing here? Do you come here often?”

“Psh. Wonwoo comes here basically every night to evaluate people’s pecs. Scale from one to ten. General’s still got the best ones so far.” 

“You have really nice abs tho,” Wonwoo says with a leer. “I’d slice apples on your abs.”

“Uh, thanks, I think,” Junhui says self-consciously. 

Wonwoo shrugs good-naturedly and returns to lying on his back, hands sculling the water back and forth as he stared up at the moon. 

“We should be the ones thanking you,” Soonyoung tells him. “For getting us all battle ready.”

Jihoon nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, without you we’d have no clue what we were doing.” 

“You’d be fit, though.” Junhui laughs. 

“That’s a real help. See a soldier from the Three Kingdoms. Drop down and give them twenty,” Jihoon says sarcastically.

“Well, Junhui has a point. Besides, The General’s been way better recently. He actually came down and gave us pointers twice times last week!” 

“Mm…” Wonwoo offers, “And did you see his ass?” 

“Maybe he was just waiting for us to get in shape enough before starting to teach us.” 

“You still really showed him though,” Jihoon says with a grin, “thanks for helping me out that time.”

“Wasn’t helping you, just trying to be a decent person.” 

Jihoon snorts. “Yeah, I don’t know, I think you were going above and beyond that. I did give you the giant purple bruise on your face.” 

Junhui laughs again and dunks his whole head underwater. 

Suddenly, a gasp. “Fuck!” It’s Wonwoo.

“What is it?” Three of them ask.

“My fingers are starting to get wrinkly!” He rights himself and makes a mad doggy paddle toward the shore. “No one can see me like this! I’m too beautiful to become a raisin!” 

Jihoon and Soonyoung look at each other. “Err.” 

“You guys should go check up on him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself complaining about his own normal body functions,” Junhui says. “I’m going to go for a swim.”

“Alright,” Jihoon says.

“Don’t take too long,” Soonyoung says.

“Why is everyone in your life, including you by the way, so _weird_ ,” Minghao complains. 

Junhui shrugs, and then doesn’t wait for Minghao before starting up a freestyle stroke downstream. His eyes are closed and it’s dark anyway, and combined, he ends up knocking into someone with one arm. Junhui comes to a spluttering stop, wiping water from his face to figure out the source of the shriek and flailing limbs.

“Will you ever stop startling me?” Seungcheol manages to get out, gasping for breath. 

“Oh. Sorry General Choi.” 

“That’s alright, Wen Junhui.” Seungcheol says his name very strangely. It’s always his full name, and it’s always with something like reverence. It weird Junhui out. 

“What are you doing in the river?” He asks nervously.

“Late night swim. Same as the others, I suppose.” Junhui can see him staring at Junhui’s face because Seungcheol’s is illuminated by the moonlight, a pale glow that highlights the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, and pink lips. The rest of his face is cast in shadow, and Junhui can’t quite make out his eyes.

“Your troops are just over there, why don’t you join them in their water fight?”

Seungcheol tosses back his head, and when he laughs, Junhui can see the outline of his throat, the jut in his neck, the hollow where it met his collarbones. 

“Do you think they’d like having me there?” The smile leaves Seungcheol’s face. “Face it, I’m a terrible leader, and my troops are either terrified of me, hate me, or both.” The expression on his face, however, isn’t bitter. “I made some mistakes when I was trying to prove myself, being the youngest general in centuries and all. But I don’t know where to start fixing them.” 

Junhui tilts his head, places one finger on his chin. “I don’t hate you, and I’m definitely not scared of you,” he says. “So that part’s not true.” 

Minghao snorts, and Junhui, under the guise of stretching out his back, launches an arm in the air and knocks Minghao down into the water. 

“Also, I think you’re already starting to fix them. You’re a good teacher. I’ve seen you.” 

“Really?” Seungcheol asks him, a wry grin of disbelief on his lips. 

“I mean it!” 

Seungcheol places a hand on Junhui’s shoulder, squeezes gently, and nods. “Thank you, soldier.” 

When he leaves, Junhui has a startling realization. Wonwoo was right. General Choi’s ass was niiiiiiiice. 

 

*

 

Their training regimens become smooth and effective, all of the inexperienced troops becoming well-experienced troops under the patient hands of Junhui and watchful gaze of Seungcheol. They’re shaping up to a squadron, rather than an amalgamation of recruits, but the clock is ticking. 

“Are they ready for battle?” Jisoo asks.

“They are.” Seungcheol says. There’s a sigh, and Junhui swallows. He’s accidentally caught another conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear again.

“It’s me who’s not ready.”

“Why aren’t you ready, general?” Chief Advisor Hong Jisoo has surprise in his voice, and it’s reflective of Junhui’s own feelings.

“I thought I would be the readiest of all of them, but while all of my soldiers became great warriors, I was lagging behind. I’m not ready, Jisoo, I can’t lead them.”

“What are you talking about, Choi Seungcheol, speak sense!”

“I’m not their leader,” Seungcheol says, voice strained. “I’m not even the best fighter. Don’t you see? That soldier, Wen Junhui, the soldiers would follow him to the end of the world. But not me. How can I call myself general when that’s true?” 

“Now General Choi,” Jisoo begins.

Minghao has to beat his wings very very very fast to restrain Junhui, tugging back his shirt by the neck to prevent him from bursting into the tent. 

Everything is interrupted by the Lead Correspondent, Choi Hansol. 

“General, General!” He calls, waving his arms madly while clutching a piece of parchment. His mouth is fixed into a large ‘O’ shape, and he barrels Jisoo over with a quick apology.

“I’ve read through every article of the peace treaties and I think I’ve found our solution to avoid our country being taken over!”

“What are you talking about?” Advisor Jisoo asks.

“Explain! Now!” Seungcheol barks, full General Voice mode. 

“Look! It’s right here, albeit in tiny print. It says as long as we can win in a one on one battle, they have to honour the current accords for another 200 years!” 

“Hansol, this is great news,” Jisoo exclaims, “amazing! Fantastic!” He frowns. “What happens if we lose?”

“Well. First of all, it’s a fight to the death. And if our representative dies, we’ll be invaded, as planned.” 

“Sounds easy.” It’s said lightly, but then General Choi Seungcheol’s voice steels. “Alright. Find Lee Chan. Send him out with this message. And prepare a handful of troops. We ride to The Arena the day after tomorrow, at sunrise. I will fight whatever representative the Three Kingdoms sends…and I’ll win.”

 

*

 

The news spread through the camp like wildfire, and everyone wants to be chosen to be part of the party that accompanies General Choi to the final destination.

It’s true that some of his soldiers don’t like him, and definitely true that many are scared. But all of them know that he is an amazing fighter, and they have faith that their country will avoid war, avoid invasion, and be happy and peaceful for another two centuries. 

On the day of their departure, Wonwoo sadly waves goodbye to all of the abs he has to leave behind, Soonyoung sneaks extra food into his travel pack, and Jihoon nearly doesn’t wake up in time to join the others. 

Seungcheol asks Junhui to ride beside him, but Junhui declines and tells him he’ll take up the rear, to make sure that none of them are ambushed from behind. Seungcheol frowns, but agrees, and the two dozen horses thud the ground with their cantering.

Junhui’s grim for most of it, and Minghao is starting to sense something is up. He tries to pry it out of Junhui, but that brat keeps it to himself. No wonder why Mingming hated him. At least Seokmin’s happy, he’s never interacted with this many other steeds before, and doesn’t nudge Minghao for sugar cubes too often.

It’s a week into their journey when it happens.

“Minghao, I need your help.”

“Of course, I was sent to help you.”

“I’ve never asked you to perform your magic before, other than for Seokmin, but I’m pretty sure you like him enough to give him sugar cubes even if I weren’t around now,” Junhui says.

“Uhuh.”

“But I need to ask you for magic now.” 

They’re in a secluded area, away from the others while they prepare dinner, and Minghao gulps.

“What are you planning.”

“Can you do something that makes someone fall into a deep sleep for at least half a day?”

 

*

 

The night before they’re set to arrive at The Arena and compete for the sovereignty of their country, Seungcheol asks Junhui to accompany him to a clearing. 

“Sit,” Seungcheol says. It’s that voice again, the one that’s not commanding, but the one Junhui obeys anyway. He’s never heard Seungcheol speak in this tone to anyone else. 

“I just wanted to thank you,” Seungcheol says, “you’ve changed this army. When we finish this mission, win or lose, I’ll make sure you’re appropriately rewarded for your actions.”

“You’re going to win,” Junhui says stubbornly, “and I didn’t do this for payment. I just want people to live well. I made friends here. I’m just trying to be a decent person.”

“You are a decent person,” Seungcheol says, a gentle, not-quite-there smile on his lips. “More than a decent person. A great one. And more than this army, you’ve changed me. I’m grateful for that.”

Junhui takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry if I’m reading this all wrong but…” He leans forward, eyes on Seungcheol’s lips. 

Luckily, Seungcheol leans in too.

Minghao covers his eyes, makes a quiet squealing noise, and flaps his wings. He wants to go and find Seokmin, who would never do gross things like this, but Junhui had specifically instructed him to stick around, so he tries to tune out all of his senses. 

Junhui smiles against Seungcheol’s mouth, and Seungcheol senses it, a little. He lifts a hand to Junhui’s cheek, fingers caressing Junhui’s jaw. It’s not the best of positions, both of them sitting on dirt and grass, but it doesn’t matter. Junhui doesn’t know when Captain Fuck Face turned into General Kind Guy, but he thinks he sees Seungcheol’s heart for what it is now. That he cares, but doesn’t always know how to express that. Seungcheol’s always been the kind of person whose actions spoke louder than words, anyway.

They kiss quietly, gently, and when they break apart, Seungcheol’s eyes are brimming with emotion. “I think I’ve loved you since that time you knocked me on my ass,” Seungcheol says. There’s a chuckle, and Junhui closes his eyes. He pulls Seungcheol back towards himself, sliding their lips together before hooking his fingers as an indication to Minghao. There’s a bright light, and Seungcheol falls limp into Junhui’s arms, knocked out by Minghao’s magical sleep. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just…I can’t see anyone else knock you on your ass, you know? Only me. You have to live.”

 

*

 

Junhui dons Seungcheol’s clothing while Minghao frets.

“This is a terrible idea. It’s always been a terrible idea but the closer the time comes the worse it is. You know I can’t save you right? My magic isn’t cued to people, I have to get a clear target for it to work, and if you’re battling someone, you’ll be moving too quickly for me to help.” 

“I know, Minghao,” Junhui says exasperatedly. They’ve gone over this millions of times. “I was raised for this from day one. I’ll win. Even if I don’t…as long as General Choi lives, it’s fine.” 

No one notices the difference with half his face covered, and after he enters the arena, it’s too late to change back anyway. He can sense the others in the circle around them, everyone ready for the worst possible outcome, but hoping for the best possible result at the same time. 

It was time. 

The representative from the Three Kingdoms was huge and tall, and also very slow. His strikes were heavy, but Junhui had both power _and_ speed on his side, as well as years of training. Their chosen one was ready for a wrestling match, execution style, with a need to kill. Junhui was ready to defend his loved ones, and his drive of protection made him scrappier, protective, clever. 

The fight takes nearly an hour, Junhui’s stronger arm flagging from overuse of the staff, but all the months of conditioning from Seungcheol’s extreme physical condition training had paid off. The other had much less stamina, and Junhui takes this to his advantage. Junhui deals the final blow to his temple, rupturing the artery underneath just as the Three Kingdoms slices his stomach with their sword. 

They’ve won.

This is the only thing that Junhui can think of.

“General Choi!” someone calls, but it’s not in Junhui’s direction. Junhui turns his head, one hand to his side, trying to stem the flow of blood. 

“But if you’re there, who’s—?” 

Seungcheol rushes to Junhui’s side, rips off the mask, screams for medical help. 

“You utter bastard, Wen Junhui, I don’t know what you did to me but that’s treason.” 

“You live. We won. What happens to me now doesn’t matter,” Junhui says, smiling through the pain. 

 

*

 

“By law we have to escort you to trial in front of the emperor,” Jisoo says apologetically once Junhui’s recovered enough to walk. 

He and Seungcheol haven’t spoken since that fight. 

“My preference would have just been ushering you off, but too many others witnessed what happened, unfortunately. And Lee Chan thought he should run off and tell everyone about what happened because that tends to be his job.” 

Junhui nodded weakly, and tried to pet Minghao’s head. Minghao also hadn’t spoken to him since the fight. At least Seokmin was happy to have Junhui on his back.

Everything is miserable. No one wants to talk to Junhui, even Soonyoung, Wonwoo, and Jihoon give him betrayed looks for not having shared his plan earlier. 

Terrible. Terrible terrible terrible. 

He tries to confront Seungcheol exactly once.

“I’m sorry, General Choi, for what I did.” 

“But you would do it all again, wouldn’t you?” he asks harshly.

Junhui cannot lie. “In a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter who follows me, General Choi. The truth is that I would follow you to end of this world, and the next.”

“After all that and still you call me ‘General Choi’. Tell me something, Wen Junhui. That kiss…did it mean anything? Or was it just a ploy so I would be distracted?”

His eyes soften and his voice quietens. “Seungcheol… you're someone I'd enjoy talking to even when I'm old. You're a decent person. Thank you.” 

Seungcheol hums, and then sighs. “Leave me.” It’s that voice again, the one that’s not quite a demand. Junhui wavers. Should he leave? Should he stay? It’s an order from a commanding officer. He goes.

Seungcheol drops his chin to his chest and closes his eyes.

 

*

 

“Hm…” says the emperor when their party arrives. “Hmm…” He stares at Junhui with a gleam in his eye, and Junhui suspects that this is a death sentence. 

The emperor continues to stroke his beard, fingers running over the neat and tidy braids that have been pleated into long white hair. “That is a bit of a pickle you find yourselves in, isn’t it?”

“My lord?” Jisoo asks, “So what is your decision? Will you behead the traitor to your army?”

“WHAT? BEHEAD HIM? AND NOT HAVE HIM GROW OUT HIS HAIR EVEN LONGER? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Kim Mingyu ripped off the fake beard he was wearing and ran toward Wen Junhui, fingers threading through the long hair immediately.

“My…my lord?” Jisoo speaks fearfully, backing away slightly. 

“I’m going to adopt you,” Mingyu tells Junhui, “so I can braid your hair forever.” 

An advisor from the palace steps forward and speaks into Mingyu’s ear. “Sir, you’re younger than this soldier.”

Mingyu waves his hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. I’ll get my dad, the actual emperor, to adopt him. It’s the same thing anyway.” He turns to Junhui. “Hey, hey, do you wanna be a prince?”

Junhui squirms under the attention, and thinks that _this_ is the perfect match for Yoon Jeonghan. He suddenly misses home.

“With all do respect, your majesty, I would like to visit my actual parents.” 

Mingyu pouts. “Alright, but you have to promise to come back. In fact, bring them with you!” 

And Jeonghan. Junhui was definitely going to bring Jeonghan as well. 

“You’re all dismissed!” Mingyu announces, clapping his hands together. 

Junhui turns, trying to catch the eyes of the people around him. No one looks at him except Minghao.

“Well,” Minghao says. “At least I can tell Mingming I succeeded. Kind of. You’re still alive anyway.”

“Junhui, a word?” It’s Seungcheol, hands behind his back. Sick dread fills Junhui’s stomach.

“Yes?” 

“Safe travels home.” 

Junhui nods. “Likewise.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t look like he’s about to say anything more, so Junhui turns around. At the door, he musters up the courage to say his final words. “When I said I didn’t hate you…I did, at one time, you know. I hated you a lot. But it changed. I don’t know why, but one day I woke up and realized I was in love with you. And that your life was more important than anything else.” 

General Choi runs up behind Junhui and envelops him in a hug, hands around Junhui’s stomach, just covering where the scar of the injury was. “Don’t go. I…I don’t know what we are right now, and I don’t know if I trust anyone or anything. But if you leave, I really will die. From missing you.”

Junhui fights back tears and turns around. “Then come with me. Let’s get married. My mom was trying to matchmake me before I left.” 

“Okay,” Seungcheol agrees.

“Really?” 

“You’re a decent catch.” 

“Hm…How would you rate my abs on a scale from one to ten?”

**Author's Note:**

> ok but when will i sleep‽‽‽


End file.
